


horizon tries but it's just not as kind on the eyes

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gendrya - Freeform, Porn Without Plot, Tumblr Prompts, ageing up, au - stayed with the brotherhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:56:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1525415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gendry walks in on Arya, and realises exactly why she's been so tense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	horizon tries but it's just not as kind on the eyes

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr prompt: gendrya walking in on each other
> 
> (gratuitous porn, im so sorry)

Gendry isn’t stupid, contrary to popular belief. Or a certain wolf-girl’s belief. Anyway - he’s not an idiot. He’s got quite a bit of sense in him, enough brains to get by packed in the brawn. While it’s true he prefers to be upfront and honest about things, the intricate paths of double-entendre,  _innuendo,_ isn’t lost on him. 

This doesn’t mean he understands the youngest Stark sister one little bit, though. 

 

She stormed out during breakfast, her expression like thunder and leaving something akin to lightning in her wake. Or, perhaps, that’s just him.  

(he tries to ignore the sparks cracking up his spine at her touch, thinks  _milady_ _milady_ _milady_ but it’s more of a prayer than a warning) 

He’d sent a questioning look over to Tom, who’d been speaking to her moments before, but he merely gave a shrug of his narrow shoulders and went back to eating.  

Gendry chews his lip warily. He hadn’t needed to guess where she was: the courtyard, out in the biting wind, practicing her water-dance. She’s been in motion for an hour now, going over move after move after move. 

He shifts. The cold brick wall he leans against seems to have leeched any sort of warmth he’d had previously; shivering, he crosses his arms and furrows his brow against a fresh onslaught of blade-tipped gale. 

Arya seems unaffected - she ducks and twists and glides as if she searches for a space  _between_ air, wrenching it apart with claws unsheathed, forcing herself into the gaps, coiling in on herself and then bursting open. She fights like she smiles; all teeth, no holding back. 

The hem of her jerkin rides up as she lunges, and suddenly all he can seem to think of is that tiny patch of white skin, the way the muscles in her bare arms ripple mid-strike. Fleetingly,  _painfully,_ his mind is filled with the image of those muscles straining to hold her above him, of hooded eyes and parted lips, of purple bruises sucked onto those bones. 

He stifles a groan that’s not all frustration - at least not of the irritable kind - and curses to the  _Seven Hells_  Arya’s habit of wearing very little while she trains. 

He asked her why, once. In the dark of night, when neither of them could sleep and the memory of her stripping off her outer layers before challenging him to a fight refused to leave him. She’d told him it was less restricting, but there’d been a hint of something - a kind of wry amusement, tinged with hitching breath - that made him think his hurried  _no, milady_ and scramble to an abandoned room hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

A sharp growl, accompanied by the  _thump_ of a misplaced foot, pierces the air. Gendry blinks. 

The line of Arya’s shoulders are tense. Her dark hair - longer, now, bound in a braid down the length of her back - is matted with filth, jarring against the purity of snowfall. Her chest rises and falls at the pace she fought.  

Her grip on Needle is slack, fingers curled loosely around its hilt. The tip drags along the ground of the courtyard; her teeth gritted, she lets it fall to the ground. The noise it makes rings  _defeat._  

"Milady?" Gendry tries, tentatively.  

"Don’t call me that." she snaps. 

"Arya," he corrects himself, frowning, "everythin a’right?" 

She turns her head to look at him. A scowl curls the edge of her lip. A muscle twitches in her cheek, and for all the world she looks as if she’s  _there_ again, faceless - but her eyes are sharp and cold, boring into him, glossy with something that makes his breath hitch. Long-fingered hands flutter along the skin of her forearms, a constant state of motion. Her cheeks are flushed, lips red from biting.  

The word  _ripe_ swims into his head; he fishes it out, leaves it to die. 

"Nothing a stupid bull like you should concern yourself with." she grits out, and her tone stops barely shy of haughty. 

Gendry stares. “Just tryin t’help,”  

"Well  _don’t._ I don’t need you to - to help me,” Arya hisses viciously, and the way she does so - like she’s looking down on him, makes him retreat. 

Once, he might’ve retorted, fought back -  _too bloody lowborn for milady high_ \- but he recognises her words as ones borne of frustration. He merely nods, knowing she’ll bite out some half-arsed apology later. 

She kicks the dirt. “Stupid bloody  _bull,_ " she seethes, as if his silence has incensed her further. "Can’t you -  _ugh._ " 

And with that, what he feels is the most confusing person to ever exist whirls round and leaves the courtyard. He watches her go. 

Needle lies, abandoned, in the dirt. A sigh whistles from between his teeth; he snatches it up before anyone else can, reckoning that it’s the only opportunity he’ll get to see her before she works herself up into a state - he’ll have to calm her down a bit. 

Gendry sets off in the direction of their shared room, trying not to let his heart beat too quickly. 

   
 

/// 

   
 

He’s about to push the door open, Needle in one hand, when he hears it. 

Feathery, fluttering sounds. Arya’s breathing. A gasp - sweet and cut short, a  _hitch._  

He swallows thickly.  _Oh,_ he thinks, remembering her glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, the stiff arc of her shoulders. There’s a creak of bedsprings, the clear noise of bare skin rasping over cloth. A sigh. 

He knows he should move. Leave. 

But then she heaves out a low, drawn-out groan that sounds  _just_ enough like his name, the syllables garbled but the  _Gen-_ ringing clear and true - and his hand brushes the door. 

He jerks it away like he’s been burned, but the damage is done. It opens an inch, the creaking of hinges splintering through sudden silence. 

A beat. 

"Gendry?" her voice is like baited breath, softer than he’s ever heard it. In that moment, he knows for certain he hadn’t imagined her sighing out part of his name; the way it falls from her lips tells him that it had been waiting there for her tongue to form the words anyway.

 _Shit._  ”A-Arya,” he chokes out, “I was just. I - leavin.” 

He turns to go - and stops, as he always does, at the sound of her voice. 

"No -" she orders, "- I need to talk with you." 

He pictures her then, against his own will - a study in winter wilderness; dark hair fanned out across the pillow, chest heaving, lips parted in a plea for him as she works her deft little fingers into her cunt – he bites his tongue as he hardens, a heady sort of sensation settling over him like fog. 

Arousal strums low in his belly, hot and taut.  

Gendry darts a glance over his shoulder. The winding corridor is empty, as is the rickety staircase. The Brotherhood are out training, won’t be back for hours yet.  

 _Stop it,_ he tells himself, forces the words  _she’d be your lady_ through his stubborn bull head, but it’s like a lone pickaxe chipping away at the Wall – useless.

He opens the door. It creaks, as always. “I’m comin in, milady,” he tells her, his chin tucked to his chest.

He steps inside, barely registering her affirmation. Closes the door, locks it.

Gendry looks anywhere but her, even though he doesn’t want anything but that. He stares at the ground, the way the pale winter sunlight streaks through the tiny window at the very corner of the room, the patterns the shadows make against cold stone floor. He can see one of Arya’s boots, haphazardly thrown into his line of sight. Her soft breathing sends shivers down his spine, a particular patch of skin on his neck remembering what it’s like to have it ghost over his flesh; a token from the times she’s beaten him in a fight and leaned over to whisper  _yield_ into his ear, a wicked grin on her lips.

He stands, fists clenched, his cock straining visibly against the fabric of his trousers.

“Gendry,” she breaks the silence finally, “look at me.”

“’S not proper.” He replies, hoarsely.

Her returning laugh is low, the triumphant laugh of a girl who knows she’s won her game. “And sneaking off to take yourself in hand after I touch you isn’t? I know what you think about.”

He can’t help it – his gaze snaps up to where she reclines on her bed, naked as her name day except for the hastily-unbuttoned jerkin and undershirt hanging off her skinny frame. A wide grin stretches on her mouth; but he can barely focus on that. His eyes stick to the dark curls at the apex of her thighs, not quite covered by the small, calloused hand resting between them. She beckons to him with the other one.

“Milady –”

“ _Gendry._ ” She interrupts. “There are no stations here. No positions. No court, no laws,  _nothing._ I want you. That’s all.”

Her tone begins as frosty as any Stark’s, but ends with the kind of softness he knows only he himself is privy to. He swallows, nods. “As I want you, mi – Arya.” He replies, and his voice shakes in tandem with his hands.

He wants nothing more than to feel her flesh beneath his fingertips, to draw out those feathery little noises from her again, to tear his name from her lips.  She looks at him expectantly, cheeks and chest flushed, mouth open. “Come here,” she commands, and as always, he cannot disobey.

Gendry goes to the edge of her bed, settling himself at her feet. “You’re a maiden,” he says, matter-of-fact.

“Obviously.”

“You’ll be wantin to stay that way –” at her signs of protest, he shakes his head, “ – don’t matter that  _you_ don’t care. The others’d have my head, and ‘s not right. I’ll do anythin but that.”

Arya shuts her mouth for a moment. Tilts her head. “Anything?” she asks.

The calculating curiosity with which she speaks sends jolts of liquid fire to his cock; he bites back a shudder.  “Y – yes.”

She reaches for his hand, dark hair falling over one shoulder. Her fingers curl round his and she guides him, guides him until his skin brushes against the slick warmth of her cunt. She falls back on her elbows; the jerkin slides open and suddenly her breasts are bared to him, dusky pink nipples tight in the cool air.

Gendry hisses in a sharp breath, slides his index finger up her slit. She’s wet as she is in his darkest thoughts, chewing her lip. The muscles in her stomach flutter helplessly as he traces her folds. They’re like silk at his fingertips, wet and warm. He leans forward, kisses the soft skin of her thigh. Sweat and her own musk coat his tongue; he presses closer still, laving over smooth flesh.

“You’re so pretty, milady,” he tells her, dragging his bottom lip to her cunt. He stops there, watching her juices glisten on his fingers. “Pretty little thing with sharp teeth.”

Her breath hitches. He feels her trembling. “Hurry up.”

He debates, momentarily, making her beg. He’d like to see that – but this is her first time laying (in a way) with a man. He wants her to feel  _good._ Gendry slips his right shoulder under the crevice of her knee, hitching it over. “As milady commands,” he murmurs, and presses a gentle kiss to her swollen bundle of nerves, flicking his tongue out to taste.

Arya jerks against him, a shrill  _oh!_ tumbling from her lips. He looks up at her; she looks dazed, chest heaving. “Gendry,” she gasps, “don’t – come on –”

He gives her a long, hard lick, making sure she hears the rumbling groan in his chest. She tastes achingly sweet, like the lemons she’s always chewing. Her toes curl against his lower back; her right leg joins the other as she rocks her hips. The movement presses her cunt to his lips further, his nose to her clit. It’s intuitive. Natural.

“Very good, milady.” He says, and pushes one finger, slowly, inside of her.

She’s tight, but instead of showing discomfort she wriggles and pants, groaning when he flicks his tongue over her slit. He adds another finger and hers tangle with the thick black of his hair, tightening enough to hurt. He grazes his teeth against her, pumping his fingers, feeling her thrust against him.

“Gods – you –  _fuck_ ,” she chokes out, and even though it’s not as if her mouth is any cleaner when they’re riding with the Brotherhood, there’s something about her swearing like  _that,_ eyes screwed shut and moaning, that makes him impatient.

He keeps his gaze fixed to her, tongue lapping at her clit. He fucks her on his fingers, his pace uncompromising, reaching up around her thigh with his other hand to grasp indelicately at her breasts. A laugh tears itself from her throat; he’d forgotten how  _wild_ she is, how unsympathetic towards words like  _first time_ or  _gentle,_ how she lives for a challenge.

Perhaps he should have made her beg for it.

Arya winds her fingers tighter in his hair, her breaths hitching and almost-sobs, her hips snapping up again and again. One last lick of her cunt with the flat of his tongue and she shakes apart at the seams; shattering and coiling and keening, her spine locked straight as she rides out the waves of her climax.

She cranes her head back to howl silently – the stretch of her lips and chin and neck is, by far, the most beautiful he’s ever seen her.

When she collapses back to him, he leans up towards her presses his lips against hers. A messy, open-mouthed kiss that’s more spit than anything else. She touches his cheek with her hand, worrying at his bottom lip between her teeth, before she pulls away. Her eyes flutter open, gaze sharp. She looks up at him, grinning.

Gendry should know better, but his heart skips a beat.

“Brotherhood won’t be back for a while,” she whispers, and reaches to toy with the ties of his jerkin.

He wets his lips. “Aye,” he whispers back, and catches her mouth with his once more.


End file.
